My mother’s friend brought the seeds of these beautiful runner beans back from Italy sometime last year, and they were finally harvested. I have to admit, I kinda like the idea of her secreting seeds away in her purse and steeling across international borders. All for the love of gardening. Actually, it was all probably on the up and up, but I still giggle at the idea of a sweet bespectacled lady responding innocently to the Customs agent, “Only a liter of Chianti, sir.”

Really, I absolutely do not condone smuggling or any illegal behavior. I promise. I blame it on my evil twin who likes the naughtiness of it all. Like drinking Cuban rum.

Anyway…

These beans are huge! And they are so tender and buttery. We steamed them until slightly soft, but still with some crispness, then simply tossed them with a little butter and salt and pepper.

I love when food takes the least amount of preparation, yet tastes more divine than anything.

(And, I swear, smuggled beans from Italy do taste just a little sweeter. But don’t tell!)

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I thought I was the only one who got ecstatic at the first sign of life in the garden, then my friend called yesterday to tell me her big news: she got her first strawberry! “We got our first tomato!” I exclaimed.

Hallllleeeluuuja!!

We’ve had a couple of false starts. You see, we have many pesky blackbirds in our neighborhood – in fact so many that there’s a restaurant down the street aptly named Blackbird Bistro – and trying to keep them from pillaging our garden is no small feat. They are smart, those birds. We turned our backs once – briefly – and found that one had taken flight with half a salmon burger in it’s mouth.

So the fact that finally one of our tomatoes had survived the birds was cause for celebration! Our itty bitty tomato (above) was no larger than a button, but what it lacked in size it made up for in flavor.

“Haaaa!!!” I screamed at the birds, holding my precious little tomato up at them, “You missed one!” I then realized that I am far too young to be referred to as the “crazy lady who yells at birds” and quietly slinked back into the house to enjoy the fruit of our labor.

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There’s something so gratifying in growing your own food. Not only does it taste better, but it’s such a wonderful feeling to “forage” for your dinner.

The weather in Seattle has been less than perfect. With March-like rain and temperatures, my poor tomatoes sit in their well-watered pots, yearning to produce, and farmer’s market favorites such as tomatoes and berries now won’t be available until July.

Come on, sun! We know what we got ourselves into choosing to live in the Pacific Northwest, but really!

The good news is that without the hot temperatures, like our Eastern friends are experiencing, my lettuce isn’t bolting and is fairing quite well! My three little varieties are sprouting nice and slow, and remaining oh so tender. Growing just as fast as we can eat it, and no more.

I just love cooking in my newly painted kitchen and walking out the back door to pluck baby lettuce from my own garden.

Life doesn’t get any sweeter. (Well, it would be if my berries would come out).

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